"Limbs burn feathers flare; Nests of ashes white and bare, Nubs of grass blackened shine, Unclasped hands of naked pine. Old footpaths left unseen Charcoal rain rinsed clean. From charred ruins these trees grow high, Like phoenix rising from ash to sky. Behold, the longleaf pine is your life; Tried by fire and saved by strife." __ A Poem by Spadecaller